


Maybe I was sent to bring you home

by percyinpanties



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied Relationships, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percyinpanties/pseuds/percyinpanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy isn't ready to leave the world behind when he dies, not the first time, and not the second time, and soon after, he stops counting. The river Lethe doesn't wipe his memories, an aftereffect of Achilles' Curse, and every time anew, Percy is reborn with the memories of a life long gone.<br/>It can only be a matter of time before it breaks him apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I was sent to bring you home

You’re not supposed to remember when you choose to be reborn. They dip you in the Lethe and that is it, every memory of the life you lived is gone. You can start over with a clean slate, try again and try better… or at least that’s how it’s supposed to be.

 

Percy was never one of Hades favourites, but it certainly gets worse when for some reason, his bath in the river does nothing. He himself thinks it’s because of his swim in the Styx, that somehow the invulnerability makes it impossible to drain his memories from him, but Hades believes that Percy is doing it on purpose, for no other reason that to mess with him. Of course he does.

 

It’s no use though, unable to prove Percy’s part in it, Hades has to let him go, has to release Percy’s soul back to the living, memories intact and a lasting effect of the dip in the Lethe that no one anticipated.

 

One might think that it can’t do much bad to remember your past life when you begin anew, that old experiences will be an advantage rather than a burden and that knowledge of what came before will work in your favour.

Most of all though, Percy has come to understand, is that not forgetting _at all_ is like carrying a suitcase behind you, one that becomes heavier with every day lived. Baggage you can not let go, pain and wounds that just won’t heal, horrors and nightmares that should long be gone and guilt that still haunts you.

It’s his punishment for falling out of the row again, and even though Percy doubts it’s anyone’s fault but his own, blaming Hades and the gods makes it easier to bear. They do seem to find a certain kind of cruel satisfaction in Percy not being able to use this advantage, and even more so in him being tortured by it instead.

 

The worst part of it all, by far, is recognizing a soul that doesn’t know you in return. The first time around, Percy meets Nico again - they grow up in the same street. He’s not a halfblood, and neither is Percy, and at first it looks like a chance to make up for all the mistakes, all the hurt Percy caused in their first life, before he realises there is no need for that: Nico is happy this time.

Percy should be too, seeing him like this. A healthy family, two younger brothers Nico takes care of, a living mother and a present father, not rich but wealthy enough not to worry, a wonderful partnerby his side. Despite this being everything Percy has always wished Nico could have, he can’t help feeling a little resentful. He’s not needed here, and that’s the worst thing for him, that the world would turn the same way without him. Maybe being a hero and having all that power went to his head after all...Percy thinks that - the being useless and unimportant - that’s part of a punishment too.

 

When he dies, lung cancer at 23, Percy chooses rebirth again - much to the amusement of the judges. Few people do good in their lives, that’s what Percy remembers thinking the first time he came down to the Underworld, and he can’t _die_ without having made a difference, without falling out of the scheme.

It’s not out of loyalty, he tells himself, not because there is the possibility to find another familiar soul again, to make their second, third, fourth life worth the trouble. It’s not because he misses them either, even though it’s harder to convince himself of that lie, harder to pretend he doesn’t actually long to see his friends again on the side of the living.

Percy is not ready to go, to quit trying and stop being, so he doesn’t.

 

On the bright side, no one objects his wish to be reborn, but on the other, much darker one, they don’t even bother trying to wipe him now. Hades has an excuse not to insist - it did not work the first time around anyway - but now Percy is sure he’s doing it to get back at him. The Lord of the Dead is still too good at holding grudges. Percy knows forgetting about his dislike of him will take eons for Hades.

 

Percy never lives long, that kind of thing just doesn’t seem to be in store for him.

Once, he dies as a kid, contracting measles, twice he gets hit by a car, one time he kills himself before he even reaches the age of eighteen.

Percy sees the best of humanity, the kind souls and close families, the happy children and good-hearted people, those who try to change the world and succeed. And he dies, again and again, at eight, fourteen, twenty-two, thirty, twelve, six, three. He’s taken in an airplane crash, a fall down a well, a rabid dog, a burglar with a gun, by his own father, a stranger in an alley, an illness. No life lasts, so Percy keeps coming back to finish what he started.

He gets more even glimpses of the worst that humankind has to offer.  More than he’d like, too.

Four times he dies in combat - eighteen, fourteen, twenty-six, twenty-three - fighting for a different cause each time, always just trying to protect civilians instead of fighting for an authority he couldn't care less about.

He kills too; rapists, murderers, a man trying to burn a child, a woman trying to launch a bomb, an enemy soldier, one of his own men.

More than once he takes the pain himself to protect others, he’d rather end with his own face pressed into the dirt, beaten and assaulted, taken and owned in the most gruesome way while those who claim to be comrades are watching. It’s better than seeing it happen to the twins whose place he took.

The one time he’s born into a rich family he goes all out to make use of it, he travels the world and helps where he can, founds charities with old money, gives it away on the street, spends it on stranger’s medical bills and shelters until nothing is left and Percy is on the streets himself. In this life, he starves before he begs from those he gave to before.

 

The search for the souls he misses so dearly fades into a background with every life he uses up for a different cause, each time the judges looks grow more wary, each time they are more reluctant to give him another life. They can’t deny him, and they can’t take his memories either. In many ways, Percy feels like he’s gained the immortality that he turned down after the first war he fought.

 

Not once is he born as a halfblood, even though he’s circled through everything else by now.  Cultures, languages, countries and religions, it’s all piling up in his head, Percy doesn’t understand how he can still memorize it all, how nothing ever fades. He’s been a woman more times than he can count, gender barely seems like more than a social construct to him in the end, and he stops caring about the body he’s born in. He’ll use them all to do what he believes he must.

It’s a curse, he’s come to term with that, but that doesn’t mean there is a day where he doesn’t loath the burden. Lives go by and Percy forgets what it means to let go, to give in, to fear the end and enjoy the time you have. For him, there will always be another day to do that, he can live five more lives before he joins his friends beyond, can try to make a difference before his light goes out.

 

In his fifth life, he meets Will. After Nico, he is the first to choose to be reborn again, many heroes spend some time wherever they end up first before they give it another go. It’s strange for Percy, Will is in his twenties, Percy just turning nineteen when they meet, and while for him memories fall into place, all that Will sees is a pretty face with no connection.

It’s one of the longest lives Percy has, a person to live for is much more than a feeble cause, one too big to accomplish. Easier to hold on to, harder to let go off.

They spent most of their years together, as friends and later lovers, until that life too burns out and Percy lives on while Will stays behind in Elysium. He doubts he’ll see him again.

 

Not every soul he meets again is as kind to him as Will is, some seem to harbour resentment, feel the anomaly of Percy’s neverending cycle and instinctively get scared.

Annabeth’s rejection hurts by far the most. The first time he finds her again she’s Russian and Percy is Spanish, visiting the country with a family he can’t grow fond of. In the light of decades he’s lived it’s getting hard to form bonds with people he won’t see again.  
The fact that he speaks Annabeth’s native language fluent and without accent rubs her off the wrong way. She’s suspicious, wary of Percy’s reasons, scared of his intentions, when it’s so very clear neither of his parents understand a word Russain themselves. Part of her must sense the knowledge Percy shouldn’t have, the things he shouldn’t remember having seen, learnt, felt - and Percy doesn’t understand why, but she hates him for it. He doesn’t hold it against her, no matter how much it hurts.

The one thing no horror has prepared him for is seeing an old love look at you like you are a monster instead of feeling the glee of reunion.  
It is the life in which he ends his own.

 

Everything must have an end though, and even for Percy, nearly as immortal as monsters and gods, has to give in eventually.

In his last life, he meets a soul he never thought to see again.

 

Percy is French this time, and for the first time in ages looks at least a little bit like he used to the first time around. His hair is black and unruly, almost curly, and his skin is darker, even in the winter. Every now and then he will wear contacts, turning his eyes from obsidian back to the colour of the sea, just to look in the mirror and think that _yes,_ he still is the same person as the boy that saved the world. He’s more than a shadow of himself.

 

He meets them in Edinburgh of all places, at night in a nostalgic pub with dim lighting and an actual fire burning in the corner. It’s cold and wet out, the air freezing with the beginning November, and Percy is glad to step into the building and be enveloped by warmth.

Not in a hurry, Percy slowly takes off his jacket and his scarf, shakes the rain out of his hair and blinks a couple times to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. No one really pays attention to him, except for the man behind the bar, watching him with curious eyes.

Percy feels it before he sees it, that familiar pull in the core of his being when his soul recognizes that of an old friend. It’s been forever since he’s last met one of them, by now they all are settled comfortably into the afterlife and Percy is the last one staying behind, trying to prove his worth to the world. Or at least that’s what he thinks he is doing.

He can’t help himself, he walks up to the bar smiling to the ground. No matter how many times he’s been rejected, nothing compares to the joy of first seeing one of them again. When he looks up though, hands gripping the counter, his eyes meet a pair of blue ones and a mischievous smile that Percy didn’t think he’d ever see again.

 

“Luke.”

 

At least a century has passed since the last time Percy slipped like this, calling someone a name they won’t remember, mistaking someone for who they aren’t anymore, but the barman just smiles back at him like this is a thing that happens everyday.

 

“What can I get you, uh…?” The similarities are startling, from the blonde hair to the sharp angles of his face, down to the sound of his voice. The way the words roll off his tongue is different, a new accent colouring them in and in this life, Luke has no scar either.

Percy’s eyes linger too long, it must be terribly obvious how he is staring, but it’s been _so long_ and he simply can’t help himself. Eventually, Percy’s gaze settles on the nametag, and only for a second, his brow twitches into a frown. _He’s called Luke now too._ That’s a thing that hasn’t happened ever, and Percy questions what the odds are before he finally shakes himself out of it and answers.

 

“Jamaal.” He gives his birth name, the one his current mother has given him. She’s a lot like Sally, if not fiercer than her, but even if she wasn’t, Percy has made it a habit to not give his old name again. There’s not much left of the boy whose name was Percy, as much as he hangs on to himself, there’s only so many lives you can live before losing part of yourself on the way.

.    
“Tea, please. ‘s cold out.”

 

It’s hard playing things casual, but even so Percy makes sure he goes heavy on the accent. Boys love french, and it comes as easy to Percy as a native language - and by now it basically is. On top of that he hopes it might make his staring a little less creepy, leave Luke thinking Percy’s only checking him out, flirting.

 

“You’re not from around here, are you?”  Luke smiles, pouring Percy’s tea as he says it. Percy just shakes his head slowly, noncommittally. He’s not sure there still is a place he could call home, not even New York makes him feel like that anymore, not even the sea.

 

“That obvious?” Percy manages a grin this time even, not dropping his accent even though he’s tempted. The mug is warm against his palms, and his eyes don’t leave Luke’s as he raises it to his lips. The tea is good, and it finally calms the fluttering in Percy’s stomach.

 

“Where are you from then, if I may ask?” With a cheekier tone, and the mischievous glint in his eyes again, Luke leans forward, both elbows on the counter. Percy’s lips twitch on their own accord and he wants to reach out, pull him in, feel how alive he is.

For a long time Percy wouldn’t have admitted it, but he has missed Luke ever since the other one’s first death. Maybe he did live more than once as well, but of course unlike Percy, Luke wouldn’t remember. That he’s here means he has left  Elysium or the Isle of the Blest even, and Percy doesn’t see why he would, after so much time has passed…

 

“France.” Percy realised that Luke must have guessed as much and shakes his head with a smile. “Reims, it’s an hour from Paris.”

Luke nods, like he thought as much and leans back again, winking at Percy before he has to go to take care of another man who called him from down by the end of the bar.

  


Percy still marvels at the man curled into his side, pale skin shining in the light of the moon outside and in contrast to Percy’s darker tone. It’s not quite what he expected, not after the _almost_ that was him and Luke in their first lives, or maybe he just hadn’t dared hoping that they could have each other this time - until they did. There is no struggle, just the pull to get closer, one that Percy isn’t able to resist and one that he still feels now, mixing with the content hum of his soul - the one that comes only from being close to someone he’s longed for.

Luke is not the first soul to come back that Percy found a lover in, but seldom has getting together been as easy as this, seldom has it felt this good. Natural, like coming home and taking off your shoes, curling into a warm bed after a long day, reuniting with family at Christmas.

 

“Go to sleep.” Luke shifts, lips brushing over Percy’s collar, breath tickling the skin there when he yawns. It does the trick of ripping Percy out of his thoughts and bring him back to the present, blinking and then yawning himself. Percy can feel the curve of Luke’s smile where his lips press against Percy’s chest, feels the soft touch where Luke’s fingers draw patterns onto his stomach, feels the rise and fall of the other one’s chest - feels the joy that it brings. Letting thoughts and worries go, Percy closes his eyes and lets sleep pull him under.

  


“Tell me about the first time.” Luke rests his chin on Percy’s shoulder, hugging him from behind and watching as Percy cuts the vegetables for their lunch. His hair hangs in front of his eyes, having gotten curlier after all, and Luke reaches out to push it back.

 

“It wasn’t happy.” Percy answers in a quiet voice, leaning his head back to nuzzle against Luke, putting the knife down as to not cut into his hand. “I don’t think you want to hear.”

 

But Luke is insistent, and determined too, kissing the side of Percy’s neck, teasing and whispering: _please. c’mon perce. for me?_ over and over again. With a sigh, Percy gives in, scooping the chopped greens off the board and throwing it into the skillet next to him on the stove. He knows Luke remembers, bits and glimpses like dreams and nightmares - it comes from spending so much time around a soul yours recognizes - eventually he is going to figure it out and Percy rather Luke hears it from him.

 

“You were… my mentor. At first. I had a very embarrassing crush on you.” Luke laughs softly when he hears that, this time pressing a kiss  to the edge of Percy’s jaw before he lets him continue.  
“You became a traitor later, bowing to a… bigger evil. It twisted your mind, you thought you were doing the right thing, and when you realised you weren’t…” The arms around him tighten their embrace when emotion chokes up Percy’s voice. For a minute, he’s quiet and stirs their food, calming the storm in his chest and mind, then he takes a deep breath and starts up again.  
“It was too late to turn things around, but you still… you still saved us all in the end.” One of Percy’s hands finds one of Luke’s and laces their fingers, searching for much needed comfort.  
“We never really had a shot of being anything, you died, sacrificed yourself… A Hero’s death.”

 

Minutes pass and Luke doesn’t answer. Percy doesn’t make him, he knows this information is a lot to swallow. It’s hard to wrap your mind around having been a different person once, especially when you can’t remember like Percy can, and he understands that. If Luke hadn’t asked, hadn’t mentioned the dreams to Percy, hadn’t used _his name_ instead of the one he gave Luke when they met… Percy would have stayed quiet and enjoyed their little bit of peace.

 

“Did you hate me?” Percy turns his head to the side, meeting Luke’s gaze and frowning at his words. “After I turned, did you hate me?”

 

It’s a tough question, one Percy isn’t sure he can answer. There were times when he wished Luke dead and gone, but when he had the chance to kill him - he couldn’t. Even faced with the end of the world, Percy had thought _killing Luke_ would be the hardest part. Not for his lack of skill, or fear of a task nearly impossible, or even the terror Kronos could induce, but because the thought of taking Luke’s life pained him then and pains him now. Eventually, he shakes his head.

“No. I could see your reasons, if not your methods. And I knew the… the _thing_ , this big evil, that it was twisting you.” Percy is very careful not to mention gods, and Kronos and Ancient Greece. He still thinks that would be a little much, even for Luke.  
“I cherished the memory of you. We all did.”

 

Later, after the sun has gone down, Percy is sprawled over Luke, head resting on his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heart underneath.

 

“You know what I wonder?” Percy whispers, breaking their comfortable silence. He feels Luke twist, raising his head probably, but Percy doesn’t look up at him. “I wonder why you came back now. It’s been… four generations almost since I last met one of us. I thought they all had settled in the afterlife, including you.”

 

The rumble of a soft laugh shakes Percy’s head on Luke’s chest, and he props himself up on an elbow after all, meeting the other one’s eyes.

 

“I don’t know.” It’s earnest, and the words are softly spoken. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Luke leans down and finds Percy’s lips with his - like they didn’t do this a hundred times before. When they part, Luke cradles Percy’s face in his hands, looking at him like he is the most precious thing in the universe. “Maybe I was sent to bring you home.”

  


“Took you quite long this time.” Charon greets Percy like an old friend, a little like someone you went to school with but lost touch. It’s strangely comforting to see him again, and to not be alone while doing so.

 

“Had some help.” Percy retorts, raising the hand he’s holding in his for Charon to see and getting an approving smile in return. Percy’s grown fond of the ferryman who has taken him to the other side more times than he can count, and he likes to think the sentiment is mutual.

  
They pay, they take the ferry, they walk up the well-worn path and together they stand before the judges. The ghosts smile like they know that this time, Percy isn’t going to make a run for it.


End file.
